


Trick or Treat

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crack, F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baal is unimpressed with the portrayal of a certain vampire.</p><p>Originally posted to LJ 15 October 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“All I’m saying,” Baal says in a tone of worn patience, “is that it’s unnatural.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Of course it is – they’re vampires. There’s nothing natural about them.”

“Not that.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his folded hands. “I mean, if they’re a hunted species, why give themselves away? And in such an obvious fashion?”

“I don’t think they can help it.” Sam considers this. “It’s the way they were written.”

“By an imbecile, clearly.”

“A very rich imbecile.” She grabs his shoulder and hauls him back. “You’re in the way.”

“You’re actually watching this rubbish?”

“I’m trying to. And how do you know it is rubbish?”

“I have eyes.” He winces at a line. “And ears. Oh please, no one says that sort of thing!”

Sam tosses an unpopped kernel at him. “You don’t say that sort of thing. That doesn’t mean other... people don’t.”

He swivels and stares at her. “Seriously, you’d buy that line?”

She holds his gaze for a moment, tries to imagine him saying that. Fails. Wrinkling her nose, she examines the remains of the popcorn.

“No,” she admits. “Okay, fine, so the movie is crap. What do you suggest we do instead?”

His eyes brighten. She hits his arm.

“What?” he protests. “I was going to suggest the usual tradition.”

“Trick or treat? And where, exactly? You’re confined to base and I’m already in enough trouble without breaking you out.”

“Not where,” Baal says. “Whom. I believe Colonel Mitchell is still on base.”

He sits, hands folded in his lap and Sam gets the impression he’s trying not to bounce. She sighs and wonders how she managed to end up stuck with a two thousand year old System Lord that acts more like he’s eight.

“Grow up,” she tells him. He sighs dramatically.

“You spoil all my fun,” he says and actually pouts. Sam fights the urge to throttle him. Baal brightens again. “Well, if the movie is a no go and I’m not allowed to torment Cam, then I guess there’s only one thing left to do.”

It occurs to Sam that she’s done this to herself.

Not that she really minds, because at least she’s keeping him occupied and out of trouble, and he’s pretty good at what he’s doing and-

“Ow!” She thumps his shoulder and shoves him back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It looked like fun,” he explains and waves a hand at the screen.

“Well, it didn’t feel very fun.” She rubs her neck. “It’s bad enough that you’re a Goa’uld without the Dracula impression, thank you very much.”

“See, now that was a good movie.” Baal gathers her back into his arms. “Real vampires don’t sparkle.”

Sam blinks, then dissolves into laughter. She hits his head with a cushion and there’s a brief, mock tussle that scatters popcorn everywhere and results in her flat on her back on the sofa, with a non-sparkly System Lord sprawled on top.

When the film ends, neither of them notice.


	2. Jack-o'-Lantern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baal attempts pun-related trickery. Sam is not impressed.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ 26 October 2010

Sam wakes to the sound of an alarm. She feels alarm when she realises that the room is suffering from a distinct lack of Baal. Groaning, she drops off the sofa and finds her top. She knows the siren is down to the absent Goa’uld. Just knows it. Though what hell he’s done now is anyone’s guess.

 _Trick or treat_ , she thinks and thumps the heel of her hand on her forehead. _Oh, he hasn’t. For the love of all that is holy,_ please _don’t let him have._

She bolts from the room.

The corridor is a shambles: the fire system sprinkles freezing cold water, airmen dash about in response to whatever the threat is, and there’s a couple of scientists attempting to salvage paperwork from the deluge. Wincing at the chill, Sam makes her way down to the corridor, heading for Cam’s quarters.

What she sees stops her dead and she has to shove the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to quell the rise of laughter: Cam is soaked through. His clothes are scorched and he’s missing most of his eyebrows.

“Oh God,” she says. He glares at her.

“Yours, yes, and I’m going to hand him his ass if I get a hold of him.”

She stares at the strange, orange splodges on his uniform. “What?”

Cam kicks a ball towards her. It rocks to a stop in front of her and she realises what it actually is – the carved face is rather a giveaway, even though little remains of the pumpkin. 

“What?” she repeats, a sinking sensation in her stomach.

“It was a pumpkin. A jack-o’-lantern, he said, which I think was a dig and you ought to take him up on that.” Cam shoves a worried-looking Doctor Lam away. “I’m fine, just pissed!”

Sam pinches the bridge of her nose. “What did he do?”

“The fricking candle was some sort of explosive,” Cam grumps. “He gave me an exploding pumpkin.”

“Oh for-” She’s going to kill him. Or at least hit him very, very hard. Someone shuts the sprinklers off, for which she’s grateful. She steps over the pumpkin and puts a hand on Cam’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go find him.”

She doesn’t have to look far – she finds him in her lab, ostensibly reading through one of her folders and looking for all the world like he’s been there all the while. Except that the innocent expression doesn’t quite sit right on his face… and he has the folder upside down.

Plucking the manila from him, Sam rotates it and hands it back with a pointed look.

“Ancient reads better upended,” he says.

“You are an utter moron,” she informs him. “An exploding candle?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are your hands orange?”

Baal holds his hands out, tinted palms upwards. “Ah.”

“Hm.” Sam sits on the next chair with a sigh. “Did you have to? Landry’s going to cut your access right back again for that little trick.”

“It is hardly my fault if Colonel Mitchell cannot take a joke.” Baal sniffs and studies the ceiling. “And Landry’s always looking for reasons to curtail my activities.”

“You could have hurt Cam! What the hell were you thinking?”

Baal rolls his eyes. “Oh please, like I’m not experienced with explosives. Do you honestly think I’d have damaged him?” She levels him a withering glare. “Okay, don’t answer that.”

“What _am_ I going to do with you?” she asks in some despair. His reaction is an immediate, lecherous grin. She kicks his shin. “Forget that! For God’s sake, Baal. I just-”

Anger clogs her throat and she waves a hand, utterly furious. And disappointed, embarrassed and already feeling the heat she’ll get in the morning for his running riot. She glares at him. His expression becomes contrite.

“Is it very bad?” he asks. She sighs.

“Cam’s okay, but you’d better avoid him for a few days while he cools off. That might not be a problem if Landry decides my word to keep you in check is invalid and sends you to Area 51 regardless.”

Hopelessness fills her – how could she have ever imagined that he would settle into a normal life? He’s not just a Goa’uld, he’s Baal, middle name trouble, and wouldn’t know normal if it bit him on the ass.

Looking at him again, she sees the import finally having some impact: he looks like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, all wide-eyes and down-turned mouth.

“Oh,” he says and sits forward to reach a hand out to her. She shakes her head and he drops it, crushed. “Why are you accountable for my behaviour?”

“Because I’m the idiot that fell in love and decided I could persuade them that you’d changed, which you clearly haven’t.”

“It was only a joke.”

It’s petulant and he pouts. Sam sighs at the inevitable wave of affection that crests over her.

“We’d better talk to Cam,” she says, resigned to be forever sorting out his messes. “And you will apologise. Maybe we can clear this up and stop it getting in front of Landry, though how since you managed to set the damn fire alarm off, I’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry,” Baal says, his eyes on the floor, thoroughly abashed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It always does,” she points out, but she can’t stay mad at him. She snags his hand and squeezes. “You are a moron, but I still love you.”

His smile is small and he sighs. “I wonder why.”

Sam gets to her feet, pulling him with her. “Yes, I do too. Come on, let’s go mollify Cam.” She stops dead as she remembers something else, and turns to him. “You specified it was a Jack-o'-Lantern,” she says. “Am I going to regret asking why?”

He smirks and pulls her closer. He smells of bitumen and pumpkin, tastes of toffee popcorn and trouble.

“Probably,” he says with a wicked grin and kisses her again.

She decides not to ask or to examine the remains of the pumpkin too closely when they wind up, eventually, outside Cam’s room. Sometimes, especially when Baal is concerned, ignorance is bliss.


End file.
